


killing me softly with his song

by mediozei



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, also salem witch trials, i will die with all my gay ships tyvm, implied yessaia, what more do yall want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediozei/pseuds/mediozei
Summary: soulmate au where one goes through pain, the other gets the same
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 44
Kudos: 795





	1. sweet creature

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so im just getting on the witcher bandwagon after bingeing the show on netflix and ive been itching to write some angst, especially after ep6 and poor bb jaskier got his heart fookin ripped into pieces and this is the result!
> 
> (side note, im not following the show's timeline)
> 
> hope yall will like it and maybe provide some feedback! i'd love to know what you guys think :)

“Have you ever heard of soulmates, Geralt?”

The man in question looked to his side briefly towards the woman who spoke. She, however, stared at the sky as she lay on a large boulder with her legs aimlessly dangling by the edge of the rock.

“No,” Geralt replied before continuing to brush down his horse, much-needed care for his companion after days of non-stop traveling.

“Of course not,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “But they’re a thing of this world. You’re tied to a soulmate through pain. So whenever either one of you gets hurt, the other feels it too.”

“Hm.”

“I feel bad for whoever your soulmate is,” the woman got up, passed by the Witcher with a pat on his shoulder, and started to walk away.

“I don’t think they exist.” He countered, staring at her retreating back who’s venturing deep into the forest.

“Destiny’s a bitch, Geralt.” Was the last thing she said before she’s out of earshot, not wanting to hear whatever he wants to say next.

The next time they met, it was near a village center where an array of dead bodies littered their perimeter, all of them either bitten or half-eaten. A flock of passersby had come out of their homes to watch in the distance as the Witcher’s sword impaled deep into her abdomen, yet her only response was to let out a bloody laugh.

“Well, dear Witcher, do you know what happens to one’s soulmate when they’re about to die?”

Geralt glared at her maroon eyes which glinted under the illuminating glow of the full moon that’s high above them. He noticed her wolf features started to dissipate as her heart slowed its beat and her breathing became ragged.

Not waiting for a response, she continued to cough out her few final words. “They die too, Geralt. Whether they’re aware of it or not.” And with that, she gave him one last pat on his side, though very faint, until her arm fell limp and her whole body gave out.

He gingerly placed her down after taking back his sword, now dripping with blood and wrinkling his nose at the sight of it. He couldn’t sheath the sword for now.

A man approached him then whom he recognized to be the owner of the inn Geralt was staying at, the same person who gave him the task of killing the cannibalistic were-woman.

“And she still managed to bring some poor souls with her in the end,” the innkeeper whistled lowly as he inspected the number of dead bodies being dragged away to be properly discarded of, leaving a trail of blood and guts in their wake.

Geralt grunted, eyeing them as well when a jingle of coins drew his attention back where a pouch was thrust to him.

“But a job’s a job and here’s your coin, Witcher.”

He was about to take it when the innkeeper started wheezing, dropping the pouch to frantically clutch at the area around his abdomen while the other hand clawed at his throat, gasping and choking at the lack of air.

“Hey what’s wrong—” Geralt started, about to aid the man but halted at the sight of the innkeeper’s eyes which seemed to be changing from hazel to a deep red.

Just like the were-woman's eyes.

_ ‘Her soulmate?’  _ the Witcher thought incredulously, too stunned to even react when the man’s body dropped dead to the ground whose eyes were wide with shock and fear.

Not wanting to spend another second at the same spot, Geralt quickly took his earned payment and headed towards the inn. His job was complete and there was no reason for him to stay any longer.

And yet as he directed Roach to gallop far and away from the village, the final words of the woman he killed haunted his mind repeatedly despite his best efforts to forget about it.


	2. lost my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the three (major) times jaskier got hurt and the one time he did it to himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo damn i didnt expect to have so much interest just from the first chapter tysm  
> but! this is where all those additional tags come into play so be warned

Jaskier was barely a few minutes old when he received his first scar located above his left elbow. Though it may look like a nick on an average human, it looked drastically bigger on a newborn baby. It took every ounce of the two midwives and one elven healer present in the birthing room not to raise panic on his exhausted mother, who needed rest after being in labor for nearly half a day.

“Already?!” The healer hissed sharply and immediately cast a quiet spell that closed the wound while trying to comfort the crying child at the same time through cooing.

This commotion stirred Lady Lettenhove who, through tired and blurry eyes, watched figures dash about the room. “What’s going on, Petra?”

“Ah, my lady,” Petra, the elf, glanced up from the newborn just after she’s properly patched him up and ceased his wails. “There’s nothing to worry about. However, you must rest now. Your baby is in good hands.”

Not having the strength to answer, Lady Lettenhove just nodded and let sleep finally take her. This caused the rest of the women in the room to finally release their held breaths and tense in their shoulders.

However, this just one the start of other similar incidents and Petra was not thrilled at the mere thought of what’s to come.

\---

“What do you mean you can’t do anything about it?!”

Lady Lettenhove’s screeching voice could be heard throughout the castle halls and this greatly distressed Jaskier as much as it did his mother. However, he concentrated to try his best and drown her out, already knowing what the argument was going to be about anyway.

When he first knew about soulmates through his mentor, Petra, he was thrilled at the idea of being destined to someone at birth. Though the warning tone of her voice told him not to take the matter lightly as it came with a cost.

This was one of the few lessons Jaskier had remembered from Petra and taken at heart.

“A soulmate is someone who you carry with you forever. That despite all tribulations, solace, and joy, they’re the one person who you entrust your life to with a great deal of love and acceptance in which they do the same.

“And it’s also because you’re each other’s destiny. So never forget, my dear Dandelion, that your soulmate’s always thinking of you.” She smiled fondly at him and gently ruffled his hair. It had been the end of their lessons in poetry when Petra brought it up. The sun was just beginning its descent in the horizon and her usually sharp features were cast with a soft glow of violets and amber.

Jaskier was suddenly brought back to the present when he saw her mother storm off the lecture room with the turn of her heels in the opposite direction. He slowly stood up from where he had been sitting outside on the carpeted hall, a few feet from the room when his mentor walked out a few moments later with a heavy gait.

“Petra?” He called out to her, noticing how the woman startled a little at the mention of her name.

“My dear Dandelion,” she gave a weak smile to the approaching young lad. “How is your injury?”

Jaskier lifted his bandaged right arm where a new gash had appeared this morning after he’d woken up.

Usually, seeing a small spot of blood from nicks on his skin that seeped through either his sleepwear or bedsheets had been a normal occurrence for the past few years after he’s been told that it was from his soulmate. There’d been a few big ones, but they were nothing major until today.

His first thought upon seeing the seemingly flowing gush of blood from his arm was hoping whether his soulmate was alright before the pain registered in his brain and the sensation bolted him fully awake.

“It’s fine now,” he poked at it and slightly winced. Petra gave him a silent glare when she watched him do it. “But no touching it yet.”

Taking that as a satisfactory enough answer, she gestured towards the lecture room for Jaskier to enter. It is still, after all, the start of the day and their lessons have yet to begin.

\---

He finished his song with flair and last strum of his lute, the entirety of the inn patrons, all full to their bellies with mediocre food and drunken stupor, cheered wildly that Jaskier had to crouch from the unseemly mob before him.

As rowdy and disorganized everyone had become throughout the night, he still managed to collect two pouches full of earnings, both coins and miscellaneous things he’d yet to look at. But for now, it was enough to cover for a night and still have residual earnings at the inn before he leaves in the morning and continue his travels.

“Leaving already, bard?” One of the patrons questioned loudly that had the rest of them join in on the unintelligible noise.

“C’mon! One more song, bard!” Another piped in, managing to be louder than the lot of them.

“I’m afraid my time is up!” Jaskier exclaimed, ignoring the echoing response of boos as he slowly backed away and up the stairs that lead into the inn’s rooms. “It’s been lovely entertaining you all! Have a good rest of the evening, lads!”

And with that, he ran the rest of the way to his room and closed the door shut, leaning on it for a moment to compose himself. As much as he loved singing in front of a jovial crowd, he valued his life over getting trampled by men who are badly in need of a bath.

Letting out a heavy breath, he headed towards the bed across the room when he felt air rush out of him without warning, making him drop his belongings and eventually himself down to all fours as if he’d just been kicked hard with the strength of a Dagon on his side.

Until he realized that, _yeah_ , it was probably that.

Barely regaining his momentum, Jaskier felt another attack that landed a blow on his back, pricking his eyes with unshed tears while letting out a curse he hoped no one below the inn could hear.

Thankfully, that was the last of the gut-wrenching punches, or at least he hoped it would be, as none came for the next couple of minutes or so and took the time to finally make it to the bed.

 _‘Not this again.’_ Jaskier slightly whimpered when he attempted to curl himself further into the sheets, ignoring the fact that he still had his boots and way too many garments on for a comfortable night’s sleep. However, even with the slightest of movements, it only sent throbbing pain everywhere. So, he willed himself to stop and let the unbearable ache consume his senses instead, fluttering his eyes closed.

He reminisced to the first time this had happed when barely a week had passed after he received the gash on his arm. The pain came just as sudden, cowering in over himself at his study desk as he clutched the area where his diaphragm was.

Jaskier weakly called out for his mentor across the lecture room who immediately kneeled by his side, placing a hand over his own to inspect it.

“What’s going on, Petra?”

A soft glow emitted from her hand which cast a warm sensation that helped ease the pain he felt, grateful to have a healer for a mentor as well.

“It seems that your soulmate is getting beaten up.” She had on a concerned look gracing her face, clearly not pleased with what she’s observing. “This would most likely leave a nasty bruise for the next few days. Stay here, dear, I’m just going to fetch a couple of vials that can help you tide over this.”

Petra’s hand left his own, taking the warmth alongside her and Jaskier felt the force of the initial pain again. Instead, he focused his attention elsewhere like his uneven breathing, keeping it at a steady pace and allowing himself to relax despite the ache.

The next time he let his eyes open, Petra was by his side again, motioning a vial towards his trembling lips and urging him to drink the sapphire looking liquid in it.

Jaskier obliged, just wanting to get rid of the pain but not without grimacing at how sour and bitter it tasted. The liquid gave him immediate relief and he croaked a silent thanks to Petra.

Thinking of which, Jaskier awakened from his reverie and glanced at his belongings he dropped a few feet away. His mentor had given him a wooden box with nearly a dozen worth of the same vial when he’s departed the castle about a year ago.

Forcing himself to get up, he hobbled towards his duffel bag and rummaged through it until he’s found the box itself. With frantic hands, he opened its wooden lid about to grab a vial…

But imagine his luck when he felt the sensation of his neck being choked and his hands instinctively flew to it, trying to remove phantom hands that’s practically wringing his windpipe. This caused him to drop the entire box of vials which crashed hard on the bricked floor, shattering on impact.

Tears started to form again and this time, he lets it flow freely, just completely exhausted from having to hold it in, _everything_ , all the time. As a result, he gave up on helplessly clawing at his bruised and reddened throat and lets darkness obscure his vision, blacking out entirely.

\---

“Good morning, bard,” the innkeeper’s wife greeted him with a bowl of pottage, a peasant staple consisting of peas, beans, and onions, along with a wicker filled with freshly baked rye bread. “On the house, thanks to your wonderful performance last night.”

Jaskier gave a curt nod and dug in the offered food. He thanked the heavens above when she left him to his own accord, serving another oncoming patron with the same meal, not questioning his unusually quiet character today despite his sociable and cheery vibe the night before. Or the fact that he had been limping on the way to a corner table and signs of atrocious looking black-and-blue marks still linger on his tender neck that he attempted to cover-up with his flimsy collar.

He was honestly surprised that he woke up an hour ago, having thought that that was truly the last straw. As much as he was gratified to live for another day, the bard couldn’t deny the inevitability that he could finally be free of destiny’s shackles.

Soulmate be damned.

Though he knows the consequence of death meant the death of the other, Petra's lectures could barely register on his mind at the moment when all he could think about was if his soulmate _cared_ for themselves. Jaskier worries every single time he peered at his reflection on the mirror, eyeing all the damage he's received from the past and is still currently receiving when new angry red welts rose from his skin, making him wince on impact.

Jaskier _worries_ whether his soulmate is being abused or is simply a masochist. Yet, no matter the answer, they continue to get themselves more _hurt_ , more _bruised_ , more _injured_ , that Jaskier thinks _'for the love of God and all things holy please just let this pain and torture end'_.

He had contemplated of deliberately hurting himself just for the sake of “making it even”. He has never, not once in his life, been gravely hurt or in pain as excruciating as his soulmate is going through. Save for the handful of pinpricks from time to time when he accidentally tripped over his footing on even ground and got a measly carpet burn on his elbows, or from the rose thorns he grew curious of touching. Those probably felt like nothing to the person he’s painfully anchored to.

Don't get him wrong: Jaskier's typically not the kind of man who would have those thoughts especially for a bard.

Hence, upon noticing the silvery glint of the bread knife from the wicker basket, Jaskier wasted no time in taking it upon his shaking hands and slowly dragged it across his left wrist, faintly at first to get feel of its jagged edges, then a little more weighted with pressure until it broke through his skin where blood had seeped out and onto the polished knife.

“What the _fuck_.”


	3. flower gleam and glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and so they met
> 
> but things go awry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY  
> yes i added new tags and yES theres a new ship bc i couldnt resist

“Y’know, you should probably take a break once in a while,” Yennefer said casually, taking in the rough features of the Witcher before her while tending to his minor wounds. A bunch of thieving bandits had attacked him once he arrived at Vengerberg by little sharpened sticks that rained on him like a shower of arrows.

And of course, he got rid of them a minute later.

“Why is that?” Geralt asked though he could probably come up with a few reasons.

“For your sake,” the sorceress cast a wordless spell over his arm, letting her magic do the work. “And for the sake of your soulmate.”

He gave a small scoff but instantly winced when he felt a prick, immediately glaring at Yennefer, thinking that she gave him a pinch.

“What.” She glared in return, taken aback at the sudden accusatory stare she’s receiving as if she’d done everything wrong.

“Nothing.” He thought none of it, brushing it off. He moved from her touch to put his top on along with the rest of his black leather-clad armour.

Yennefer sighed and let the Witcher go about his ministrations, focusing her attention on clearing up the scattered bloody cloths and used vials around the infirmary. She knew that Geralt was impartial on the concept of soulmates, rarely ever bringing it up or letting her mention it.

Yet, when they had heard of endless stories about people dying of unknown causes or witnessed couples breaking off their partnership, she can sense Geralt’s growing uneasiness the more he encounters the phenomena.

She has even noticed how Geralt’s been taking more calculated attacks rather than going for his usual run and lunge tactic on a monster. Furthermore, he’s heightened his tendency to observe his surroundings by taking note of people’s movements, whether they have the same limp on a specific foot or a fresh and visible scar on their arm.

A Witcher’s senses may be far more progressive than an average human’s, but he’s insufferable when it came to his emotions and feelings that he never realizes it to be the leading cause of his actions.

Hence, Yennefer took the matter unto her own and tried her best to look after Geralt, to hold him back when fights get too rough and provide backup if he didn’t stop putting himself into more danger than he could handle.

And today was no different, except she had called him out in need of assistance for a particular task.

“A couple, both sorcerers and soulmates, decided to tamper with time portals. Long story short, one of them, Percival, is stuck in the future with Tissaia while the other that managed to escape, Clementine, is having unknown side effects and is barely able to wield any magic.” Yennefer explained once Geralt had finished putting on the last of his armour piece and quickly led them to a winding hallway.

“Tissaia?”

“She tried saving them, but the portal closed the last minute before Clementine passed out from using a substantial amount of magic. Time portals aren’t something one can conjure up easily without the use of elixirs.” They entered a room scattered with books and scrolls that covered nearly the entirety of the floor. Then there, in the middle, was a woman sobbing without a care as she crouched low on the ground while profusely wiping away her never-ending flow of tears.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Clementine looked up at the other sorceress who’s crouched in front of her as well and practically shoved a vial to the woman’s chest. “Here. Drink this.”

“What’s in—”

“Drink or let Percival die in the other world you both opened up because neither of you, _cunts_ , was sensible enough to presume that time travelling is in of itself a taboo in this world.” Yennefer cut her off and opened the vial herself, forcing Clementine’s hands to take hold of it and brought it close to her mouth.

Getting the message, Clementine drank the potion in one gulp and retched at the bile taste of the liquid when another vial was given to her right away. Without question, she ingested the next one in no time, promptly feeling a surge of heat she recognized to be _power_ and _magic_ filling her senses.

“Now, open a portal to where they are. And you,” amethyst eyes bore into Geralt’s amber ones. “Stay here in case Clementine passes out again and keep the portal open. The elixirs can only last so long, and we don’t know what we’re dealing with from the other side.”

The Witcher gave a firm nod when they felt a gush of wind blew on their faces as a portal opened to a place surrounded with a vast array of oak trees and meadow lightly covered with a rainbow of flowers.

“This is the same place we portalled into,” Clementine looked like she was already working up a sweat with her arms outstretched in front of her and her hands starting to jitter. “Please, save them.”

Yennefer briefly looked at her and Geralt before crossing the gateway, her heeled boots immediately sinking into the soft grass. Then, she noticed right away that there was a cottage and made her way to it, being cautious of her surroundings as she felt something unusual since she set foot on this otherworld, not knowing what it is.

The door to the cottage was ajar, and its lock was wrecked from some forceful impact, causing uneasiness continuing to well up in the pits of her gut. Yennefer took note of how more significant footprints were intermingling with smaller ones just from the grassy path until she saw the bigger picture once she’s pushed open the ruined door.

There were visible signs of violent struggle as the whole place was thrashed: wooden furniture destroyed into smithereens, pots, and pans scattered alongside various torn and opened books that depicted words to a language she didn’t recognize, and broken glassware that seemed to have been either jars or even bigger vials at some point. She could also smell the mix of scents in her surroundings, both feminine and masculine, until she managed to pinpoint Tissaia’s.

It was faint but enough for her to sense that the rectoress had been in distress and frustration. Yennefer could relate because in the mere minutes she’d been in this world, she wondered why Tissaia hadn’t just blown everyone away with a spell and instead let herself be handled by intruders who’ve probably dragged her and Percival somewhere else. Unless…

“Of _fucking_ course,” Yennefer ran out the cottage as soon as she’d clicked the pieces on why she was feeling such uneasiness. She couldn’t use her magic, and neither could Tissaia and Percival because it _didn’t exist_ here.

Thankfully, there were still faint traces of footsteps the further she delved deep into the forest until it led her to an opening of a bustling village where people were gathering around what she assumed to be the hearth of the town. 

Observing her surroundings, she noticed how the villagers don’t seem to dress all that different back in her world. Save for the impressive amount of the lot carrying weapons of all sorts she has never seen before, some of them smelling aggressively of charcoal and sulfur.

‘Welcome to Salem Village,’ a sign read that was situated a few feet away from her. ‘Home of the infamous Witch Trials.’

“Witch trials?” Yennefer murmured to herself while blending in with the crowd, trying to get closer to the increasing commotion at the village centre. She also didn’t fail to notice with every step she took, a gush of power tingled at her fingertips, getting that familiar feeling of what it’s like to have magic again.

“Burn the witch!” A villager beside her suddenly bellowed, and a chorus of enraged voices joined in as well, all of them shaking their fists or weapons at the display before them that had Yennefer horrified.

There were Tissaia and Percival, both unconscious and propped up with bound coils of metal chains around their waists secured to a pole behind them. Then, at their feet were stacks of hay bills and wooden planks piled atop each other. Another person had walked up to them with two torches in hand, placing it on the bottom of their soles where flames began to engulf whatever it could burn.

The fiery heat woke Tissaia up with a piercing scream, trying to get away from the growing inferno but to no avail when she felt more chains keeping her shackled to the pole. She tried to wield magic as a means of escape, but the chains bound to her singed her skin in the process.

 _‘Silver chains?’_ The sorceress cursed when she noticed Yennefer amongst the crowd, feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

“Tissaia!” Yennefer called out which roused the villagers surrounding her, but she was in too much pain to even be concerned at them because the moment Tissaia woke, a scorching heat fired her limbs at the same place the rectoress burned and all she could think of was _‘fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.’_

Simultaneously, in the other world, Geralt loudly cursed when Clementine had finally collapsed from holding the portal for too long, and he had to quickly rush in to catch her before she’d hit her head and take over in keeping the portal open.

Yennefer wasn’t kidding when she mentioned that elixirs are essential for opening a gateway to the other world. The moment Geralt was near it, it’d seemed like life was being sucked out of him the longer he stayed close. The only thing he could do now was to hope that the three sorcerers would _‘hurry the fuck up’_ or he’d die.

“Another witch!” A villager took his chance to lunge at her with spear looking weapon that had three pointy prongs at the tip, directing it to Yennefer, but clearly, she was having none of it.

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” She swiped a hand to her surroundings that had everyone stop on their tracks, a simple time freeze spell which gave her time to regain her momentum. Her lower limbs still burned, only worsening whenever she took a step, but she had no time to waste as she gathered enough strength to break the chains from Tissaia and a still unconscious Percival with another motion of her hand.

Tissaia quickly stepped away from the stake and dragged Percival along with her, closer to Yennefer, who helped carry the other man as well. Without a word, they set out to escape Salem Village and head back from where they came while time stilled around them. 

But the moment Yennefer’s back on the forest floor, they heard the crowd began to stir again, and all they could do as they dragged a dead weight behind their trail was run.

The moment they had just passed by the cottage, a hot-tempered mob had managed to catch up to them, waving their weird big ass forks and sulfur-filled weapons that Yennefer did not want to know the power of. All she could focus right now was that Geralt was in sight, and the portal is still being held open by him despite looking like a constipated donkey.

Tissaia and Yennefer hauled Percival across the gateway, landing beside Clementine, who appeared to be unconscious as well, followed by Tissaia heading in. Though Yennefer made it just in time before Geralt closed the portal, she wasn’t left unwounded. A sharp unknown object had lodged itself to the back of where her hump used to be after hearing a high-pitched sound, like a contained crack of thunder that’s been wanting to out itself from having built-up pressure in its cylinder.

Both Tissaia and Yennefer screamed in agony, leaving Geralt exhausted and confused as to why they were crying when it finally registered in his pea-sized brain that, _oh_ , “You’re both soulmates.”

“Yes, dear Witcher, thanks for pointing out the obvious.” Yennefer rasped and clawed to her back, where the foreign object was only to send shooting pains into both her and Tissaia.

“Wait—what?” Tissaia looked at her in bewilderment, then to Geralt, who’s dragged the other two sorcerers in the room to a corner and tossed his cloak on them haphazardly.

“Tissaia, you _witch_ and absolute _wrench_ ,” Yennefer curses like she’s never had before. “Where were you when I practically sacrificed myself to the hellhounds?!”

Before either of them could open their mouths, however, they both passed out from blood loss, which left Geralt to tend to four unconscious sorcerers.

“Fuck.”

\---

The Witcher had set out on the Path again with Roach nearly two weeks later. He deemed Tissaia and Yennefer to be doing fine on their own, after having taken out the pebble-sized object from Yennefer’s back and relieving them both of their misery. 

He didn’t want to stay any longer than he had to, knowing that once the women woke up from their two weeks of sleep-induced coma, they’d only mention how they’d found out that they were soulmates after years of being in the same place for years, or how Tissaia never once deduced the fact that she bled the same places Yennefer had when going through her transformation, or—

Geralt was _not_ going to stay and listen to them yap off about _soulmates_.

Clementine and Percival left a week earlier when word of their mishaps was heard by the Brotherhood, clearly being summoned for a court trial to _discuss_ the taboo of time travels and portals.

Geralt, nor anyone from the Continent, ever heard of them again.

So, here he was assigned with another monster to kill with the promise of a hefty sum of pretty coin from a nobleman that’s been terrorizing their lands, the _same old, same old_.

Well, Geralt wishes it had been the ‘same old’ if he was informed of what he was going to behead, instead of being told it was just some “scary water monster”, and not a fucking deity of the underwater lake that he could not kill.

What Geralt knows about a Dagon is that they’re practically immortal and receives energy from believers’ faith, which might be the deity’s only weakness. However, he’s not about to head out and hunt the worshippers. That would only result in random beheadings and a bad review of his name.

Instead, he’s made himself a decoy until the Dagon ventures back into its humble abode. This meant a night-long of endless brawls and a sorry excuse to Yennefer after the sorceress had reprimanded him numerous times to “stop getting used as a rag cloth.”

That is if he even makes it out alive. He’s used up all his ability-enhancing potions and his weapons were thrown into the depths of the lake. Geralt’s only hope was for the sun to rear its crown out of the horizon as he chokes from the clawed hands of the Dagon, being lifted at eye level. Though in the Witcher’s point of view, the creature’s god-awful jaws of death.

\---

“Well hello, Witcher,” a woman, presumably the innkeeper’s wife, greeted him before he’d even found a table. “Ya look like you’ve just been out for a swim! Came for the water monster by the lake, I assume?”

“Hm,” Geralt grumbled, ignoring the old woman’s antics, then frowned when he noticed that the only corner table left was taken by a brooding man that’s barely touched his food. Displeased, he settled for the table next to it and shrugged off his sopping armour followed by his weaponry, both dripping with lake water including himself.

“A room is available, plus a bath, if you’re lookin’ for one.” The woman came by with ale and a bowl of pottage, wrinkling her nose at the display of the Witcher’s belongings just wetting her inn. Eventually, she left him alone when he didn’t respond further, busying herself when more patrons called out her name.

Letting out a deep sigh, he reached out for the mug of ale and took a sip of the piss water. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it barely passes as something consumable. Nevertheless, at least he made it out alive after a whole night of being played by a Dagon, surprised that he even woke up an hour ago.

Geralt was considering whether to contact Yennefer, especially when he’d ran out of his magical potions before heading out for another mission when he noticed blood drip on the wooden table. It smelled fresh and iron-y, and he further noticed that _it was_ _his_ , coming from his left wrist that held the ale.

“What the _fuck_.” He blurted out, astonished, taken aback, and all kinds of synonyms that describe ‘surprised’because his wrist had been slit somehow.

 _‘Is it magic? A curse?’_ Geralt thought helplessly that for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do and only watched as it bled non-stop. It _stings_ , it _hurts_ , it’s _all kinds of painful_ and it continues to be when the incision dug in more profoundly, and he worries it might hit a vein soon if it doesn’t stop, stop, _stop—_

As if on cue, the metal clang of a utensil had him look to his side and into the eyes of the brooding man who stole Geralt’s corner table. The man’s irises glints of an electrifying cornflower hue despite the bare amount of light casting upon their surroundings and the Witcher thinks, _‘What a beautiful colour.’_

Then _there_ , nearly missing it, on the man’s left wrist was the same cut, fresh and bleeding that its scent filled Geralt’s senses whole. Along with it, he caught little whiffs of dandelions, honey, and _amber_ that it made him feel all warm and tingly as it prickled his nostrils with rich, earthy tones. He just wanted to dive deeper into it because it felt like home and warmth, and everything good that for a moment, he forgot what it’s like to feel pain.

Until it didn’t as the man spoke, words not registering in his pea-sized brain but Geralt thinks that he said something along the lines of—

“You’re Geralt of Rivia,” his cornflower eyes pricked with tears and watched as his vision blurred around the edges. Then one by one like the soft patter of rain, he felt wet, hot streaks of tears flow down his cheeks and pool by the tip of his chin until it drip, drip, dripped on his lap, staining his pants. “Of course. It makes so much sense now. You’re a Witcher.”

Jaskier began to laugh, though it sounded hollow and pathetic in his ears. He was reminded of Petra when she used to tell him tales of how meeting one’s soulmate was a dream come true as Lord and Lady Lettenhove had.

“And at that moment, their pain had ceased ever since they realized that they were each other’s soulmate, only feeling love and affection towards each other.” She narrated it like a bedtime story, and little Dandelion had liked listening to it after he’s had an incident.

Yet, Petra had only been telling it like how any other storyteller had woven it to be because that’s the version everyone liked the most. No one wants to know the struggles that happened in-between. Nobody has the kind of respect to stay and listen to the actual story because it’s long, arduous, and tedious. So, why would it be any different if respect doesn’t make history?

Still, Jaskier respected Petra and her other stories of lovely soulmates even though she didn’t know what it was like to be with one. And now, he’s laughing because the number of times he’s dreamt of finally meeting his soulmate and hoping that it would be just like those stories felt far-fetched.

“Destiny must’ve been having a grand, ol’ day when it decided to pair us up like it was nothing, huh, Geralt?” His words felt heavy on his lips, but his heart felt heavier as it ached with every breath he took. The gash on his wrist became utterly forgotten when there’s an ache overweighing in his chest, the feeling so new and profound that he wonders if the Witcher could feel it too.

Geralt should say something instead of continuing to gawk at the still nameless man in front of him. For example, asking his name since the man knew Geralt’s, most likely from his reputation as a Witcher in the Continent. Better yet, asking if the man would like to clean up the bleeding cut on his wrist, both their wrists really, because he didn’t want anyone passing out of blood loss right now.

Not when Geralt had just met his soulmate, who started crying and he knows that it was not the relief of finally meeting each other. There’s an ache in his chest that’s starting to hurt more than the pain on his wrist, and he’s racking his brain trying to find a reason as to why it hurts so much. ‘ _Why does it hurt so much?’_

Then, Geralt could visibly see the bruises on his soulmate’s tender neck, a result of the Dagon’s clawed hands mangling his throat. His decision to sacrifice himself to a deity for a whole night, to be used as a _rag cloth_ , had affected his soulmate in so many ways that Geralt knew where his other injuries were.

He _knew_ , and yet, all he could mull over were the words from the females he’s encountered, the were-woman and Yennefer, stinging back to him like karma. Geralt knows that he should do something, but he sees the man’s lips move again and he just _couldn’t_.

“My soulmate is a Witcher,” Jaskier started, and he really should stop. If he doesn’t, he’ll— “And I’ve never wanted to die more than I do now.”


	4. human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hewwo im so sorry for the very late update  
> but uni sucks and here's a lil somethin

And he woke up.

The first thing he noticed was the blaring rays of the sun which seeped through the cream coloured curtains, attempting to brighten the large room he occupied. Jaskier tried to drape an arm over his eyes but hissed at the pang of pain he felt from his left wrist. He inspected the bandage that wrapped the self-inflicted injury, wondering who had given him aid and how he had ended up in a bed. Additionally, he had a dream that made him feel unsettled, though he could not remember for the life of him.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” a woman’s voice interrupted his looming thoughts, sauntering in by his bedside with the hem of her coal-black dress dragging across the marble floor, and examined his raised arm. “Looks like the bleeding has stopped. You’re lucky that you hadn’t managed to nick a vein, or it would’ve been the end for you.”

Jaskier stared at her deep amethyst eyes, noticing how there were slight flecks of silver in her irises before they turned and stared back at his. He opened his mouth, wanting to utter how he’d been a fool or _something_ to save himself from embarrassment, but only meaningless rasps of words came out, just recently noting the dryness of his throat.

She chuckled at the way he pouted after not being able to speak, knowing that as he’s a bard, losing their voice would be the most devastating thing that could happen to them. So, she brought a glass filled with water close to his parched lips from the bedside table and helped him drink, her other hand placed on his back to prop him up.

“I’m Yennefer,” the sorceress introduced herself after Jaskier had emptied the glass. “You are?”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” he managed a smile while laying back down on the plush pillows. “Or Jaskier, the bard. Thank you so much for your hospitality. How did I end up here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Yennefer sat by the edge of the bed, taking hold of Jaskier’s uninjured hand and caressed it. “After you pulled that stunt back at the inn, you fainted not long after and Geralt had to rush you here before he passed out as well. You had been out for about half a week now, no doubt from the added stress your body received when that idiot of a Witcher fought that stupid Dagon.”

Jaskier was surprised to see how she seemed to seethe with anger after uttering Geralt’s name. Speaking of which— “Where is he?”

“He woke up a day after the both of you arrived,” Yennefer let out a frustrated sigh and frowned slightly. “He’s been pacing for hours since then around the gardens. Either that or yapping to his horse non-stop like a crazy lunatic.”

She stopped her ministrations on his hand, placing it atop her lap instead. “What happened back at the inn? He’s not one to bring it up so I didn’t bother asking, let alone utter your name just so that I could identify you. Though I’m assuming that you two had worked out that you’re soulmates?”

It was Jaskier’s turn to mimic her frown along with an added bitterness and regret. He hadn’t precisely ended things nicely before he fainted, and he could only make what that man could be pondering about.

_“And I’ve never wanted to die more than I do now.”_

He grimaced at his words which haunted him, wishing that he could take it back or that he had at least worded it differently. However, he couldn’t deny that that was what he felt in the heat of the moment after finding out his soulmate was a Witcher.

What was he supposed to do? Accept it and move on? To simply forget the pain that scarred him for life?

“I hadn’t even told him my name,” Jaskier started, but his words fumbled out from his lips, unable to keep up with his thought process which was going faster than he’d like it to. “I don’t know what to do, Yennefer. I’d said some things but—I—”

“You didn’t expect him, your soulmate, to be someone so crass and knight-like,” Yennefer continued for him and reached out for his other hand, soothing his nerves by kneading on his skin along with a slight bit of magic. “You’ve most likely thought of different scenarios where you’d meet in a better light, help you understand why he’d done the things he did. Maybe ask why he chose to become a Witcher but honestly, Jaskier, half of those things he wouldn’t even know himself.

“I’ve tried being the voice of reason. That despite his brute nature, he has a soulmate, too. And he couldn’t accept it to the point where he believed he didn’t have one.” She let out another sigh probably for the nth time now, Jaskier discerned, and he sympathizes.

“May I see him?” The bard asked, already trying to get up from his bed and Yennefer had to step in when he nearly stumbled on his footing.

“Are you sure? You could always wait for him to approach you instead.”

“I think I’ve waited long enough just for us to be in the same place at the same time,” Jaskier smiled sadly. Yennefer felt that with every dragging step he took, his hands gripped an inch tighter on hers, most likely dreading for what’s about to occur no matter the circumstance. “And if he’s waited this whole time, well, the least I could do is meet him halfway.”

The sorceress raised her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t expected Geralt’s soulmate, a bard no less, to still stick through despite their tribulations over the years. If anything, she dreaded to have to convince the Witcher again to visit him. Though now, she could see who’s the most strong-willed between them.

_‘You better make the right call, Geralt, or so god help me for what I’m about to cast upon you if you don’t.’_

\---

“If you’re deciding whether to walk another lap, stop,” a feminine voice halted his steps and Roach’s as well with a pull of her reigns, watching the Rectoress of Aretuza near his way along the stone path. “Any more and you might just imprint your feet on the ground, and your mare wouldn’t mind one bit.”

Geralt shot her a scowl that exuded annoyance, yet she had none of it and rolled her eyes in response which he noticed was one of Yennefer’s quirks. Though he didn’t comment on it, he was slightly perturbed seeing the gesture on Tissaia’s usually stoic and passive face, deciding that he would very much like never to see it happen again. Continuing his walk with Roach, Geralt pulled on her reigns back and ignored the horse’s protests when she retaliated. He heard the sorceress snicker behind him.

“Do you need anything?” He says through gritted teeth, clearly wanting to be left alone. Tissaia thought otherwise, to his dismay, as she followed close behind him, her heels softly clacking against the hard ground. She let out a hum in reply which only taunted Geralt more.

A commotion interrupted their heated quarrel and Geralt, once again, stopped in his tracks for the second time that Roach neighed with great displeasure, but her owner hadn’t seemed to pay attention. He’d shoved Roach’s reigns to Tissaia’s hands, leaving the Rectoress baffled, and headed to _their_ direction with quickened steps before breaking out into a run.

Now, nearly a majority of the Continent knows that he’s the most hard-pressed of all Witchers to have ever come out of Kaer Morhen. He had survived many blistering mutations to gain his superhuman abilities which granted him immunity to most diseases and poison. And to top that off, he’s developed an extreme resistance to pain, allowing him to last on a battlefield longer than your average knight, an essential capability when faced with unpredictable monsters of all sorts. With years of strenuous training and experiences of hardship out in the wilderness, it’s given his body time, _years_ , to become accustomed and earn his right as a well-known Witcher.

“Geralt?”

Yet, there’s a man just a mere few meters away that’s bonded through him by destiny’s wicked ways, as living proof of someone who’s gone through the same suffering as Geralt. An average human being who’s never been experimented with numerous mutagens or been left at a forest to fend for himself. And he thinks, that out of all the savage creatures in the Continent, this man might be deadliest amongst them if the Witcher hadn’t been careful with his past counterattacks. However, the man wasn’t just another mythical creature; he just happened to be the poorest, unfortunate soul to have ever graced destiny’s grasp.

“Well, good to see you too. I didn’t expect you to be the touchy type. I’m n-not complaining, though!”

During his times of travels, Geralt has always been known as stoic and impassive, “Witchers can’t feel emotions,” he’s heard people murmur endlessly. And while that can be true to some degree, he’s just learned to suppress it and accept what others perceive him as. In this regard, there would be no strings attached, and he can go his own merry way to the next town in need of his help.

“Yennefer? What’s happening–Hey! Don’t leave me here with this _big oaf_ —”

He’s also known to speak the fewest of sentences unless required. Reserved and calculated, that’s what Geralt is, and he’s never had a problem with it. A few days ago, however, he was faced with the result of his actions, the built-up consequences people had warned him about in the form of a grown man who’s currently squirming in his grasp—

“Geralt! Please!” Jaskier managed to get an arm free and bonked it against the Witcher’s temple, effectively being freed of hard, muscular arms.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt wanted to go back to being close to him. To be filled with his overwhelming scent, a holy combination of all things good and pure. To forget that they were in a dilemma because Geralt was a Witcher and his soulmate a _normal_ human being. He wouldn’t even know how to address it in the first place. How could he when the first time they met, the man had a bread knife nearly an inch deep in his wrist and proclaimed that he wanted to die after knowing what Geralt was?

Jaskier could see that a million thoughts were circulating his imp brain judging from the severe furrow of his eyebrows, and the constant fidgeting of his hands and feet. As much as he had an obligation to feel remorse or anger, a look into the Witcher’s eyes convinced him that he didn’t need to, for it showed a great deal of regret. Moreover, Jaskier could see himself in Geralt’s eyes, that despite his bright golden irises there were flecks of cornflower blue permeating through.

And so, he reached out, just like Geralt had earlier when he ran over to him and placed his arms around his soulmate’s neck.

“My name is Jaskier.”

\---

It was raining.

The clouds were painted a murky grey which cast a sombre mood over a group of nobles, sorcerers, and the common folk who are slowly trudging across a grassy path. They donned hooded cloaks shielded them from the pour and chilly wind, adorning the colour black, a symbolism of death and grief.

It was indeed a fitting weather to mourn.

Soon, the path transitioned into a coastline. The sand was wet from both the rain and ocean water, which lapped along the shore with gentle waves that emitted a soothing sound. Footsteps crunched against the beachfront, muddling the once untouched esplanade with soiled heels.

Aside from the occasional sniffling, it was a quiet trek to the shore. The group stopped as they neared the edge where the waters wouldn’t draw close, and a couple of henchmen came forth carrying two heavy caskets. One was embellished with gold and rubies, while the other with opal stones.

The henchmen didn’t stop until they were knee-deep in the ocean, gently settling the caskets atop a wooden platform, built just to fit two grown adults that lay parallel to each other. One by one, their reddened hands released the chests and stepped aside to let the King pass by who carried a torch in his hand. Hesitantly, he brought the light down near the edge of a casket and watched as it slowly crackled, forming a small flame that tried to stay alive in contrast to its drenched environment. It wasn’t long until it grew to a full-sized fire, consuming each of the caskets in hot pursuit.

By the time the entire platform was engulfed in a fiery colour of reds and oranges, it had floated towards the horizon by the waves. Though when it became just a speck the further, it drifted in the distance, no one from the group had moved from where they stood. The occasional sniffles turned into wails filled with heartache for the loss of two significant and well-known people in the Continent.

The way they died had been unexpected, and no one knew for sure how it happened. By the time they were found, nearly a week had passed. All that was left of their corpse was a few dismantled body parts and limbs strewn about in the middle of the woods. Their clothes and belongings were in a similar predicament as well. It was truly a chaotic and bloody sight to behold. Despite the mess, they still tried to hold a proper burial for the ill-fated souls with what was left of their being…

Especially when one was the son of the Lettenhove household and the other was the infamous Witcher from Kaer Morhen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit 02/17: i sincerely apologize for not putting up a warning for major character death. i just completely forgot and was a big mistake on my part
> 
> edit 02/18: hello again :) i'd just like to include the playlist i made that heavily inspired the making of this fic (hence the chapter titles referring to song titles if it wasn't already obvious) https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5sZkkzT3IQo2IaiK8w6ZlT?si=7nrBvx_wQ4yT1vcylMy3ZA


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